


Lights Out.

by normaslouise



Category: Bates Motel (2013)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 10:25:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6325339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/normaslouise/pseuds/normaslouise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from 4x03.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights Out.

His mouth was hot and wanting against hers, prying her lips apart as he searched for an answer she was already so willing to give. 

"Don't play with me, okay?"

She wouldn't. Not like this, not with his hands at her hips, firm, nails digging; on the small of her back, drawing her in. She wanted this, she needed this--needed him. Wanted him, cared for and trusted him; loved him, even, in a way. 

And she could taste his love too, like the promising sugary sweetness of quiet conversation over dinner and late night movies and warm summer days spent arm in arm, hand in hand. She could taste their life, simple and lovely, spread out along the expanse of the tongue that flicked against her teeth, that prodded her lips until she accepted what she'd known since the first time she'd laid eyes on that damn man: he was going to be the death of her. 

"I'm sure I want to do this right now."

The hands settled at the back of his neck curled and pulled him closer still, her mouth hungry and longing for the heat of his own. She could feel his body soften, could feel her knees go weak at the thought of her kiss, her touch, her mouth making this man--stoic and strong--crumble beneath her. 

And then his hands were under her knees and he carried her up, up away from the defeat, away from the troubles that lie in wait behind her front door, that snap and gnaw at her heartstrings. Now there was only him, only them, and she's dizzy with it all. Her nose pressed against the hollow of his throat, she could smell that faint traces of aftershave and musk coupled with a scent all his own, a cross between gunpowder and pine needles. It made her feel safe the way he made her feel safe, it reminded her that she wasn't alone. With his ring on her finger, she would never be alone. He would be here, would keep her safe and beat with fists bloody the demons that scratched patiently, methodically at her front door. 

The bed was beneath her far too soon and at once she missed him, missed the curve of his muscles and the warmth of his body. She expected him to pull at her skirt or tug at her blouse, to stand above her and unbuckle his pants with hooded eyes and tell her to turn over or spread her legs or touch him, touch herself, touch anything. But he didn't; he stood for a moment, looked upon her not with the glaze of wild lust but with something different, softer perhaps; quieter. It stirred something deep within her, an unfamiliar ache that settled in the hollow of her chest and spread warm and slow. She wondered what it was but only in passing. Part of her knew, part of her had always known, but too much of her knew it wasn't possible. She would deal with in the morning when the sun illuminated the mess she'd made; for now, under the growing darkness, she would find comfort in his embrace and the chaos it caused. 

His lips found her neck, pressing against her skin soft and tender touches, some dry and some wet. She arched into him, chin tilting to allow him more access, to allow him deeper into her still. The fingers steadily doing her unbuttons were not his, but hers; when she'd started, Norma didn't know. But she was halfway through now, making easy work of them despite the tremor that had found roots in her now. He never noticed (or if he did, he never said). His attention was too much on the dip of her collarbone, the hollowing that same with each sharp intake of air. 

"Alex..."

He stopped immediately, pulling back to look at her. His lips were swollen, his mouth still stuck in a kiss and she regretted pulling him from it. He looked like a dream then, his face half cast in shadow by the lamp that still remained on at her beside. Still there was the softness in his eyes, brown and wide and welcoming, and she shook her head. "Sorry."

"Let me..." The warmth of his hands spread along the newly exposed skin of her abdomen, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The remaining few buttons of her blouse were undone not by shaking hands but sturdy ones, ones characterized by hard callouses and cracked skin still healing from a winter long and full of hard days and even harder nights. His were hands that killed, were hands that strangled and shot and filled out endless piles of paperwork. Hers were made for chopping, for planting and for growing, for loving, and yet they seemed not too different from his. Perhaps hands, like people, could be capable of both. 

The remaining fabric was gently pulled out from inside her skirt and then removed completely, leaving her cold and uncertain. She looked to his eyes again, watching as he swallowed thickly and drank her in, swallowing her whole. Her fingers itches to reach for the lamp, to turn off the light and continue this in darkness where she wouldn't have to watch him lose himself like all men did, like all men would when faced with a woman clad in nothing but her bra, a hitched skirt, heels... but she didn't. Instead, she waited until his gaze returned to hers and she opened her mouth to his when he, unable to stop himself, kissed her like he was drinking from a cool, impossible pond in the middle of a wide, endless desert. 

The rest of their clothes were gone before either of them could stop to breathe, having been pulled down and ripped off and shoved aside as husband and wife, consumed with need, raced to feel skin against skin, body against body. He stopped only twice; the first time to grab something from his pant's pocket (his wallet) and the second, as his teeth nipped at her jaw and he settled behind her legs, to asked once more: "Are you sure?"

Her thighs closed around his hips as a breathy 'Yes' escaped her. That was all he needed, that last moment of validation before his forehead dropped to her collarbone and he entered her, slow and considerate. 

They moved together, drawn out at first, testing and teasing and learning. He bucked again her when she tugged at the hair on the base of his neck; she sighed when his lips found her nipple, as the flat base of his tongue flicked against the peddled bud and soothed that satisfying sting with a gentle kiss. She felt safe under him, his head buried against her breast, one hand planted at her side as the other gripped her hip, pulled him deeper into her with every stroke. A hum of approval and his lips were on hers again, swallowing her mewl as his pace quickened, as he drew closer to his edge. Her hips rolled and she pulled and sucked on his bottom lip, moaning to his groan. She could only watch him as he pulled away, looking deep into his eyes as he stiffened, grunted, and fell slack against her. She smiled then, small and quiet, as his lungs drew deeper and deeper breaths and he pulled away, just for a moment. 

"You didn't--"

"I don't need to."

As if he would ever take that for an answer. Norma squirmed under him as he moved to her side, expecting him to roll over and fall asleep. Instead, his lips pressed against her shoulder and his hand, still impossibly warm, pried open her thighs. She felt herself swallow, felt her heart skip at the thought of what he was going to do. 

"You don't--"

"Norma." Authoritative, pressing but still gentle. There was no use fighting him, even if she wanted to. Now, with dark eyes boring into her as his fingers played against her, stroking and rolling and dipping inside her, spreading and pushing, she wished she had turned off the light. Even as her eyes fluttered closed, as her button lip pulled between her teeth and her hips rolled along with his hand, heel to cusp, she could tell he was smirking. But when his rough thumb brushed against her just right, when she angled her hips and drew him in deeper and her eyes shot open, he wasn't--he was watching, eyes big and wet and alive with the sight of her. It was then that he kissed her, open-mouthed and lazy as he fingers quickened and her thighs began to shake. Heat coiled in her stomach, the same heat that snuck its way into her earlier, that sat patiently and waiting for this, for his hand against her core, for his attention and his affection. She whimpered against his lips and pressed her hand against his own, forcing him deeper and sending her further and further away from herself, further and further away from her worries and sorrows and demons and closer to him, to them, to her climax.

She came quiet, a small gasp and the rolling of her hips. Each stroke sent her reeling, sending tiny prickles of white hot shocks scorching through her body. When he finally pulled away, she relaxed against him, one hand coming up to cover her eyes as a breathless laugh rattled out from between her lungs, one that faded into silence for too soon and left the two of them waiting. When he finally moved, without thinking, the hand covering her eyes reached to grasp his wrist. 

"No! Stay..."

 _Click._

Darkness.


End file.
